Geneva and Elinor's Hobby Shop, Los Banos, California--a small farming community in the middle of the Central Valley--1964. These ladies sold and serviced Schwinn bikes, and stocked a very complete inventory of free flight and control line models and accessories. But they were much, much more than mere merchants--
When you walked through the door, Geneva would most likely be pulling on a wrench on someone's bent Sting Ray, and Elinor was around back in "The Model Room." "The Model room" . . . where the ladies had set up level tables covered in cork board where they would help their young customers, patiently and step- by- step, through the building process, from unwrapping the box through mounting the engine, tank and wheels.
Then on Sunday morning, they'd--both of them, driving their '61 Buick the called "Black Beauty," meet the new pilot at the wide open high school field and test fly the new airplane, then teach the cadet to earn his--or her-- wings--sometimes without even the almost obligatory, "what the heck am I doing?" crash. Geneva, who stood about 4'11," would crank up the redhead McCoy .19 on the front of their all-forest green Ringmaster, get it into the air, and call the trainee out to hold hi--my--hand on the red plastic "hot rock" control handle until trainee had the feel. Elinor would take pictures on her old Brownie, and I still have pictures of me after my first landing.
But more than the building and flying, the learning to love the smell of castor oil and to tolerate the sharp smell of fresh butyrate--here's what really set these two lovely girls apart: They taught a bunch of us youngsters about responsible credit. They'd sell you a model, an engine, finishing and flying products and gear, and they'd allow you the use of their model room, and all their experience and expertise--all at $2.00 down, and $2.00 a week. You had to make payments by every Friday, and if you missed a week, you couldn't build until you caught up--no interest, no penalties. But the finished model stayed in the shop until you paid up.
These girls had serious cajones. They settled in a small, conservative farming community in the 1950's--lived together, drove Harleys in their spare time, and made no excuses for their, let's say "unconventional" lifestyle.
Roll forward to 1980--My brother and I enlisted my wife to launch our Voodo and Spectrum, respectively, out at the high school. Elinor was not in town that weekend. Geneva heard the unmuffled Fox .36 x, and came out to watch the (pretty amateur) combat--really more like rat racing . . .
Geneva was pretty impressed with the consistency of the run with the pen bladder setup on my Voodoo. she lamented her inability to handle the dizziness she expeienced as she'd aged, but speculated that with the way the Voodoo behaved with that engine, why would she need to circle? So I replaced the 60' lines with my never-before-used 70' "Perfect" .018 seven strands. My brother cranked up the Voodoo, I got it in the air, and Geneva jogged out, took the handle, and spent the next three minutes on loops, eights, and outside loops. she only went around three, maybe four times. When I rolled up the lines, there was only one twist. Geneva always kept track of her loops vs. outside loops.
These ladies sdeserve a plaque.
Al Whitehurst